It Breaks My Heart When I See Them Smile
by Hikarin-Love
Summary: She's actually a little jealous of Anna


Guess who finished Infinite! THIS girl.

I hope the tissue paper and gross sobbing I've been doing for the past 3000 years didn't give it away.

So anyway, this fic I wrote was supposed to make me happy again but instead I'm even worse than before. Isn't that great? All the possible doors and here I am opening more sad ones. I hope you enjoy because I can't find joy in anything anymore.

Goodbye friends I have to rethink everything.

* * *

She's actually a little jealous of Anna.

Seems kind of contrived, being jealous of oneself, but then, Elizabeth knows better than anyone that _self_ is a matter of circumstance. Changing one little thing can alter entire personalities. Opinions and perspectives shift ever so easily depending on what soil you grow out off.

Anna seems to have it all.

Out in the balcony, Elizabeth peers into the window. Looks at the life she longed to have.

They're not rich - they never are - and they have to make ends meet most of the time but they're not complainers either. It's almost the shadow of adventure when they make their dollar stretch as far as it can and the satisfaction of a well saved penny is worth it. They don't want for nothing. Even if they did, Anna wouldn't be upset. That's all that matters to _him_. That's all that ever mattered to Booker DeWitt and that's why Anna has it all.

She's the one with the father who loves her. She's the one who got the piggy-back rides and the school dances. He _dances_ with her. He twirls her around. He hugs her, holds her, makes her feel safe in all that he is. She's the one who got the kisses goodnight and the Christmas cookies, the one who showed him her report card, and her projects, the boys she likes and the boys he scared away. All the little things that makes _such a huge difference _and Elizabeth can't be quite sure if Anna even appreciates them the way she would have if she _knew_.

She's the one he took to Paris.

So here they are. In the city Elizabeth has only dreamed of.

They rented out a small room, high up with a good view. It's cozy and it's enough for two wary travelers. Anna spins around and is _so damn happy _while Booker drops their luggage on the floor. He groans as he sits on a heavy chair but it's just for show.

"I love it here!" Anna smiles, looks at him as if he hung up the stars, "Thank you, Dad, thankyouthankyou!"

_Dad_ - Elizabeth shivers, but that's probably because it's chilly out in the balcony.

Booker isn't cold at all, his expression warm and inviting, "You've thanked me a million times already."

But Anna only half-hears, already she's out the door, "I'm going to get us some drinks from downstairs, wait _right_ here."

"Anna -"

Gone.

He shakes his head but he's happy. In a moment, he's up and pulling out a case from the few they brought. It's an old case, and beaten up on all sides, but otherwise intact and still as strong and reliable as it might have been long ago. He takes out a guitar (he _plays_, imagine that, one of the millions things she never got to know about him) and begins to strum a few chords as he sits on the bed.

It's a slow tune and he's engrossed in it.

Anna's going to live here. Oh, yeah, she can see it now. Anna will use her big blue eyes and Booker will cave. What started out as her dream vacation come true will become them settling in and living there for the long run. They already packed all their things to come here (it's really not much) and he can wire New York and sell their furniture quick. He'll _find a way_. He'll make her happy.

At this thought, Elizabeth places the tips of her fingers on the glass between outside and in. As if she's afraid the it will shatter if she presses to hard. It's a tentative touch and her breath fogs up the vision on the glass when she puts herself closer.

Against her better judgment, Elizabeth grabs the handle and turns the door open. She's quiet about it, so he won't get startled and turn around. She gently pushes herself in, curses the cold weather and hopes the chill doesn't reach him before she can enter.

It doesn't, and she goes in silently. She walks up to him, careful and a little scared, until she's close enough to make it look like she just came in from the front door. Booker is still playing in full concentration, and hasn't even noticed her presence yet. She could reach out and touch him.

Instead, she sits on one of the trunks, obscured from his view. The old thing creaks under her weight and Booker finally - _finally_ - glances at her. It only lasts a second, and he keeps playing, but the smile he flashed her was worth it.

"Didn't hear you come in," he says, not looking up, "Want me to play something in particular?"

He's talking to her. _By God he's talking to her._

His voice is older than she remembers. Of course, it's been _years_ in his world. But it's still _his_ and it's still _so good _to hear.

Elizabeth tries to measure her voice, swallows stiffly and braces herself, "What song…did you have in mind?"

"How 'bout _Will the Circle be Unbroken_? I know it's your favorite."

She knows the song. And it is. But she never told him that, didn't have time to tell him that. Well, he knows _Anna_ loves the song - but she doesn't want to think about the girl that is, in every aspect, herself but not herself.

She really _looks_ at him now.

Elizabeth isn't sure if the look on his face means he remembers or not. She knows that _this_ Booker DeWitt woke up in his apartment (108 Bowery Street, New York City, New York 100013) and ran to his infant daughters room hopeful and afraid.

Elizabeth would like to pretend, for this one moment, that _her_ Booker was talking to _her_ only.

_There are loved ones in the glory,  
Whose dear forms you often miss;  
When you close your earthly story,  
Will you join them in their bliss?  
_  
He could be her Mr. DeWitt, might be. He might remember Colombia like a dream he escaped, might remember every now and again when he makes an observation. She's not sure though. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe he decided it was all just a nightmare dream and forgot, represses it every time those visions come back. If he does remember, she still doesn't know if that means he's the same man she _drowned_ or just a version of him that didn't fall asleep forever.

_In the joyous days of childhood,  
Oft they told of wondrous love,  
Pointed to the dying Saviour;  
Now they dwell with Him above._

It's all very confusing. She feels as if she _should_ know, and she probably _will _know in the future, but until then she hasn't breathed in all the doors to actually _know_. The Luteces probably know, but they are no help. They are not so much teachers as they are allies and not even that. While they _are_ space and time, while their bodies, minds and souls are woven into the quantum dust that is the infinite universe, Elizabeth is only a navigator and a seeress of doors and how to open them.

_You remember songs of heaven  
Which you sang with childish voice,  
Do you love the hymns they taught you,  
Or are songs of earth your choice?_

She almost wants to ask the questions outright. It screams at the back of her head to ask him, _what do you like, what makes you happy? Do you like this do you like that? _Because she just doesn't know. She never will. She never got to know her DeWitt, she's only seen the countless others. Who like different things, little changes. The variables.

_You can picture happy gath'rings  
'Round the fireside long ago,  
And you think of tearful partings,  
When they left you here below._

That doesn't matter though.

Because in this world, Booker DeWitt got to raise his daughter and that all _he_ ever wanted.

This is all _they_ ever deserved. _They_ - as in Elizabeth and him. But _he_ doesn't even know her. Because he's not _hers_. She was left here on her own…without him

_Will the circle be unbroken  
By and by, by and by?  
Is a better home awaiting  
In the sky, in the sky?_

She can't help her voice cracking. The choking sob that bites her.

Of course, he notices. And he pauses. Stops playing and there's a look on his face that just _knows_. Instead of asking what's wrong…he _understands_.

_One by one their seats were emptied,  
And one by one they went away;  
Now the family is parted,  
Will it be complete one day?  
_

A single tear rolls down her face. A shallow bit of hope and sadness mixed with the overwhelming sense of _I miss you so much come home _and she can't hold it together anymore.

No mater how badly she keeps the song in her voice, she's broken and it shows.

When he strums the last slow note on his guitar there's a silence. The light in his eyes shift ever so slightly, as if expecting to see an old friend yet at the same time he's telling himself _no, I can't be_. He hardly moves but the tense of every muscle is movement enough to rock mountains.

Elizabeth holds her breath, knowing that it's probably all in her head and she's imagining it, but her hopes are too high for her to stop _wishing_ that he'll look at her.

_Please, please, pretty please._

She doesn't think this. She _feels_ it in every fiber that makes her existence. It makes it twice as bad to wait for disappointment. There's a silence she wishes will pop.

All at once, Booker lifts his head and looks at her.

His eyes are still as blue as she remembers.

"Elizabeth?"

Yes, she's jealous of Anna.

She's jealous that she gets to hug him without having to disappear the second he wraps his arms around her as she sobs pathetically in his shoulder.

Her vary presence makes his nose bleed and his mind crack. So she has to go before she breaks him beyond repair. When he wakes up he finds he's collapsed on the bed, Anna is near him with a tissue, worriedly asking what happened. He doesn't remember. Says something like a dream that made him very sad.

Anna hugs him tightly. There's a shadow of her that _knows_ losing him would be to much to bear. Booker kisses her forehead and tells her that he's not going anywhere.

Meanwhile Elizabeth is hidden in the balcony. Cold and jealous.

No…not jealous…what she's feeling is…

Heartache.

She feels a heartache that spans the infinite.

"Welcome to Paris, Mr. DeWitt."


End file.
